Bluewater Jailbird: The Tenth Novel in the Caribbean Mystery and Adventure Series (Bluewater Thrillers Book 10)

by Charles Dougherty

  "I tol' you, he ain't here," the woman said from over Lucas's shoulder. "You see?"

  "I see." Lucas inhaled the pungent aroma of the curry. "Does he live here?"

  "Sometimes."

  "When was the last time he was here?"

  "Day befo' yestiddy."

  "What time did he leave?"

  "Sunup. I fix he breakfas', then he go."

  "Where did he go?"

  "Fishin'." She frowned as if the question puzzled her. "He a fisherman. Tha's what he do."

  "But he didn't come back last night?"

  "No. Tha's right. What he done?"

  "Why do you think he's done something?"

  "Detective Constable don't come out here to pass the time of day. You mus' think he done somethin', else why you aksin' me 'bout him?"

  "He witnessed a murder, and gave a statement to one of my men. I want to — "

  "A statement?"

  "Yes, he came forward and said he saw the whole thing, and he — "

  "You 'spect me to believe that, you mus' t'ink I stupid, Mister Detective. Derek Mitchum ain't never tol' no p'lice nothin'. He don' have no truck wit' p'lice. No, suh. Not Derek. He stay away from trouble. P'lice an' trouble, they go together."

  "I have a signed statement from him in my file."

  "Hmm. When he give this statement?"

  "Yesterday, late in the morning, up at Rodney Bay. Why?"

  "What time?" she asked, ignoring his question.

  He pulled his notebook from his pocket and flipped through the pages. "Eleven. Why does that matter?"

  She shook her head. "Befo' he call me," she said.

  "He called you after he made the statement? That's what you're saying?"

  "Musta been." She put a hand to her cheek and dropped her gaze for a moment. "He call while I eat lunch, an' I was listenin' to the news on the radio. Musta been 'roun' noon. Mebbe a little after."

  "What did he say?" Lucas asked.

  "Say he goin' to be late comin' home. Man pay he to go fishin', but he t'ink he be home by dark."

  "Who was this man?"

  She shook her head, looking down at the floor. After a few seconds, she looked up at Lucas, locking eyes with him again. "He don' say. Jus' a man, gon' pay he lotsa money."

  "How much?"

  "He don' say; jus' a lot. We needin' the money bad, see."

  "Did he often take people fishing? People who paid him?"

  She shook her head. "No. He jus' fish, sell the fish at the co-op. People don' pay nobody like him to take 'em fishin'. Them people what pay, they go on them fancy, big boats."

  "So he just had a regular fishing boat? With an outboard engine?"

  "Mm-hmm."

  "Does he often stay out overnight?"

  "Sometime. Not often. He always let me know, though."

  "I see. You are worried about him?"

  "I am. When you come to the do', I think you come to tell me somethin' bad happen to he." She shook her head, a tear welling from her right eye and running down her cheek. "You t'ink you find he?"

  "I'm going to try." Lucas took a business card from his pocket. "You let me know if you hear from him, please?"

  She took the card and put it in the pocket of her apron. "Yes, I do. An' if you find he, you tell me?"

  "I will," Lucas said. "Thank you for your help."

  "Sorry 'bout at firs'. I t'ink at firs' he done in some kind of trouble. He a good man, Mister Detective."

  "I know. He has a clean record with us. Now don't you worry. He'll show up." He patted the woman on her sagging shoulder and stepped outside. "Good afternoon."

  "Afternoon," he heard her say as he walked back to the street where he'd left his car.

  ****

  Hamid Lanjwani studied the photograph on Samir's smartphone. "I cannot see a difference, but she was at some distance the other night, and the light was not good."

  "That is so; only those lights that shine down on the deck from the mast, but this woman also asked if I had seen her partner the day before," Samir said.

  "That could have been a ruse, Samir."

  "Emir, why would she do such a thing? There was no reason. She thought I was just some local boat vendor, trying to sell tourist junk woven from palm leaves."

  Lanjwani thought about that for a moment. "Perhaps," he nodded. "You can see a difference?"

  "Yes, emir. But I saw the other one up close when the police brought her into the marina. She has short, curly blonde hair. The one on the boat now, she has straight hair, and up close, you see some red color, like those Scots have. And their eyes are different, too. The one they arrested has blue eyes, and this one has green eyes."

  "You pay too much attention to infidel women, Samir. I have seen how you watch the ones who come into the store in those disgusting bathing suits. They have no shame, but you, you should know better."

  "Emir, I must be able to tell one from another; it is only for this reason that I — "

  Lanjwani slapped him. "Do not dispute what I say."

  Samir swallowed, his cheek burning from the slap and from his embarrassment. "Please excuse me, emir."

  Lanjwani studied him for a moment. "If you were not my wife's brother ... "

  Samir fidgeted in the silence, breaking it after a long pause, "Yes?"

  "Do you have the passports yet?"

  "Soon, they say. They have left Brazil; they should arrive yet this week. When will the ship leave for Honduras?"

  "I don't know yet, but not soon enough. These men are restless; they want to go out and see the island. I cannot allow this."

  They sipped coffee from the thimble-sized cups on Hamid's desk. After he drained his cup, Hamid said, "Follow the woman. If she asked you about the other one, she may ask others. This could be dangerous."

  "As you wish," Samir said. "But the police have her, and the fisherman, Mitchum, he told them — "

  "Yes, yes," Hamid said, with a wave of his hand. "I know all of that. Still, this detective, he is looking for the fisherman."

  "I don't understand."

  "He has some more questions for him; he has told the men at the fuel dock. Someone told him that the fisherman was from Marigot, and the detective was seen there a short time ago, at the man's shack."

  "I see."

  "Your brother, he understands he must say nothing of the fisherman?"

  "Of course, emir. We can trust him."

  Hamid stared at him until Samir looked away. "Go," Hamid said. "See what this new woman is doing. Watch who she talks with. Listen if it is possible. I am not comfortable with any of this. We can't have anyone snooping around our business, not while the jihadis are upstairs."

  ****

  D.C. Lucas was thinking about his missing witness as he drove back from Marigot. His cellphone shrilled, distracting him. He picked it up and glanced at the screen as he answered the call from his immediate superior.

  "Yes, Detective Sergeant?"

  "Lucas?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Are you in your car?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Alone?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Any progress on the Watson case?"

  "Not since my last report, sir."

  "Are you going to recommend charges against that woman? The one the witness identified?"

  "It's become more complicated, sir."

  "I don't want to hear that. The Deputy Commissioner is asking questions."

  "What kind of questions, sir?"

  "About the woman. People are looking for her; she isn't on the books anywhere."

  "Why, sir? Who is looking for her? This could be impor — "

  "I don't know, Lucas, and don't ask impertinent questions. It is enough that the Deputy Commissioner is asking. What is your problem?"

  "The eyewitness has disappeared, sir."

  "Disappeared? You must produce him to bring charges. Where is he?"

  "I'm looking, sir. His wife hasn't heard from him since yesterday. Is it possible that �
�� "

  "Don't ask me questions, Lucas. I will ask the questions. Is that clear?"

  "Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir."

  "Now, where is this Berger woman?"

  "She's ... uh, at Bordelais."

  "Bordelais! You've put her in prison? Why not at the lockup?"

  "There was some confusion on the part of the uniformed officers who picked her up. I — "

  "I should say so! There's no record for her."

  "No, sir. I — "

  "Has she been before a magistrate?"

  "No, sir."

  "Why not, Lucas?"

  "There was a mix-up, sir. I only intended to question her. The officers misunderstood and took her to Bordelais."

  "And did you question her?"

  "Uh, yes, sir, but ... "

  "But what, man?"

  "Before I got to her, they put her in with the other prisoners."

  "So what?"

  "She got into a fight with some other women in the cafeteria, and by the time I got to her, disciplinary action had been taken. I intervened, but she wasn't co-operative at that point."

  "So what are you doing now?"

  "I wanted to arrange for the eyewitness to formally identify her as the woman he saw stab the victim before I took her before a magistrate, so I instructed the warden to release her."

  "Release her! What are you thinking?"

  "I didn't have enough evidence to bring charges, and we have her passport, so there's no flight risk. I — "

  "Lucas?"

  "Find that eyewitness. And where is the Berger woman?"

  "As I said, sir, she was released yesterday."

  "Then why is the Deputy Commissioner asking where she is?"

  "I can't answer that, sergeant. She could be anywhere; I would have expected her to go back to her yacht, but I — "

  "Her partner in the yacht is trying to file a missing person report. You've made a right hash of it, Lucas."

  "Yes, sir. What do you want me to do?"

  "Find the Berger woman, and find that witness. We need to close this right away. Do you understand?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Good. Call me when you have that witness and we'll have her picked up and have him positively identify her. Then we can take her before a magistrate and you can bring charges. Is that clear?"

  "Yes, sergeant."

  A glance at the phone told Lucas that the sergeant had disconnected. He scrolled to the directory entry for Mary Jordan.

  "Zack?"

  "Yeah, Mary. Where's Berger?"

  "Out of the way. the paperwork shows that we released her yesterday. My friends picked her up about an hour ago. Why?"

  Lucas filled the warden in on the phone call from his sergeant. "When will the paperwork get filed to show the release?"

  "It's been entered into the system with the rest of yesterday's business. It should show up any time, now, so if the Deputy Commissioner checks, it should all match what you told your sergeant."

  "Okay, that's good. Thank you."

  "No problem. I'll be in touch later about the expenses."

  "Okay. Call me on my cell — not the office."

  "Yeah, okay. I gotta go. G'bye."

  "G'bye, Mary."

  Chapter 6

  "No," the bartender looked at the snapshot of Dani on Liz's phone and shook her head. "I don't recognize her. When you t'ink she been in here?"

  Liz put her phone away, thinking for a few seconds as she picked up the fruit punch she had ordered. "No later than the day before yesterday," she said, "but it could have been any time in the last three or four days." She took a sip of her punch.

  The bartender frowned for a moment. "No, she not been here. I haven't seen her."

  "Is there someone else working here who might have seen her?"

  "Only the cook, and sometimes the owner, but I been here the whole time; I would have seen her if she been here."

  "You put in a lot of hours, then," Liz said.

  "Oh, every day we open, I'm here from open to close. I need the money."

  "You'd know the regulars, I guess," Liz said.

  "Not really any regulars," the woman said, as she ran a damp towel over the bar. "Mos'ly, we jus' get tourists from the resort next door. They stop in when they go up to Fort Rodney, mebbe, when they tired of the resort food. Only regular was a fellah named Herbie, but we ain' gon' see him no more."

  "Why is that?"

  "You heard 'bout the murder?"

  "I heard something about that," Liz said. "Night before last? The man found on the beach?"

  "Mm-hmm. Tha's Herbie." The woman made the sign of the cross. "Herbert Watson. He'd sit in here and watch for ladies that didn't have no man wit' them." One corner of her mouth turned up in a half-smile and she shook her head.

  "Herbie never hurt nobody. We used to feed him every now and then, when he was down on his luck. Us ladies, we all liked to look at him. Fine lookin' man, he was."

  "He was found about a hundred meters from our boat," Liz said. "Dani, my partner, would probably have been aboard when it happened."

  "You anchored up by the Gros Islet breakwater, then?"

  "That's right," Liz said.

  "There are some bad people up that way. Rough."

  "That's what another bartender told me, but I'm surprised to hear that," Liz said. "There are always boats anchored off that beach."

  "The smugglers, they count on that. They weave in and out of those boats so don' nobody see them."

  "What do they smuggle?" Liz asked. "Drugs?"

  "Mebbe." The woman looked around the empty bar and leaned close to Liz. "Word is, they smugglin' people," she whispered. "Hope your frien' didn't get mixed up wit' them."

  "People?" Liz asked, her voice just above a whisper. "What kind of people?"

  "Young girls. They promise them work in America. The girls' families, they pay lots of money sometimes, and they say the girls gon' get passports and green cards."

  "That can't be legitimate, can it?" Liz asked.

  "Oh, 'course not. Rumor say they sell the girls to somebody."

  "Why would the families let the girls get involved in that?"

  "Desperate, some of them. Some mebbe don' know better. S'pose they all got different reasons."

  "If so many people know about it, why don't the police stop it?"

  "Government don' want it stopped. Too many people on the islan' — not enough work. Everybody that leave, that make it better for the res' who stay behind."

  "So you think Herbie might have seen them, and they killed him?"

  "Herbie seen them, all right. Tha's how I know 'bout the smugglers, know the rumors true. He tol' me."

  "He told you? But I thought you said they probably killed him because he saw them."

  "Herbie, he kept company wit' the rich single ladies in the resorts, mos'ly. But sometime, luck don' go his way, an' he don' find a lady. Then, he sleep on the beach up there near the breakwater, up over the high water line. He had a little camp back in some of that scrub — jus' a place where he stash some little food, an' a blanket, mebbe. So he see these people come an' go, but they don' see Herbie. He careful 'bout that."

  "Then why now?" Liz asked. "You think he got careless?"

  "Not Herbie; he been livin' on that beach a long time; he know how to hide. I t'ink mebbe the bad people bein' more careful lately. Herbie say they been bringin' some men in the las' few times."

  "Men?" Liz asked, frowning. "But why would men come here if there's no work?"

  "Herbie say they come here, stay a few days, an' leave."

  "Leave?"

  "Mm-hmm. In one of them same boats — slip out through the anchorage. Sometimes men and girls, sometimes jus' girls, an' sometimes jus' the men."

  "Did he say anything else about the men?"

  The bartender thought for a moment, looking down at the bar top. She looked up at Liz and nodded. "They speakin' some foreign language, these men."

  "Any idea what language? Frenc
h? Spanish?"

  The woman shook her head. "Uh-uh, Herbie like the rest of us here. He speak a little French, a little Spanish. Herbie speak some German too, 'cause of the ladies. Not so many language be what he call foreign. Mebbe Chinese or Japanese, somethin' like that. But he full of surprises, Herbie. Happy man. Gon' miss he."

  "Can you think of anyone Herbie might have talked to about that? I mean, besides you? Did he have any family? I'd like to pursue that; maybe my friend got mixed up with those smugglers."

  "No close family, no." The woman scratched the side of her chin. "But there is a cousin of some kind. She tried to make sure Herbie was all right, you know. She older; he said she worried 'bout him because he didn't have any place of his own. Wanted he to stay wit' she. But Herbie, he like living rough, I t'ink. It was part of what made him Herbie, sort of. The beach bum thing, tha's what a lot of the rich ladies liked, Herbie say."

  "Any idea where I could find her?"

  The bartender nodded. "Margaret, she named. I don' know where she live, but she have a fruit stand 'longside the road goin' into town."

  "The road from here?" Liz asked. "The one to Gros Islet?"

  "Mm-hmm. Margaret. But I don' know she las' name."

  ****

  "Zack?"

  "Hello, Mary." Lucas was sitting at his desk, a cup of lukewarm coffee on the blotter in front of him. He had been sorting through the paperwork on the Herbert Watson case when his cellphone rang. "What's going on?"

  "We have a problem."

  "I have an endless supply of problems. What now?"

  "It's the woman."

  "Berger?"

  "Yes. What other woman would I call you about?"

  "Sorry. I'm buried, trying to catch up on the paperwork. What about her? She's out of sight, right?"

  "She certainly is; she's escaped."

  "She's esc ... What?!"

  "You heard me."

  "How? I thought you were sending her to — "

  "No names, Zack, okay?"

  "Right. Okay."

  "Three of his men came to pick her up. They drove away with her in the car. She was squeezed in the back seat between two of them. My contact just called. The one who was driving came to behind the wheel. The car was in the ditch and he's got a concussion — big lump on the side of his head."

  "What about the other two?"

  "Still unconscious. One of them's missing an ear, and the other one's eyes were put out."